Linwood Barclay: Parting Shot

I pushed open the screen and walked out into Madeline Plimpton’s perfectly groomed backyard. “Jeremy!” I shouted. “Jeremy!”

Gloria followed me out and shouted his name as well.

The property backed onto forest. Jeremy could easily have vanished into it. Or he might be hoofing it into downtown Promise Falls. Suddenly I wondered if he’d played us, and was actually back inside the house.

“Ms. Plimpton,” I said, “check around upstairs, in case he’s still here.”

She vanished. We could hear her shouting the boy’s name throughout her home.

I walked down to the edge of the property and scanned the woods. Somehow, I didn’t see Jeremy wanting to commune with nature. Gloria was ten feet behind me, calling for her son.

“Jeremy! This isn’t funny!”

“Where might he go?” I asked her, not wanting to raise the possibility that he might have left the property against his will.

She raised her hands helplessly. “I swear, I don’t know. Probably someplace where there was something to do. A mall or a McDonald’s or something like that. Do you think something’s happened to him?” A look of panic was creeping into her face.

“There’s no reason to think that,” I said. “It’s probably like you said. He just needed to get away from the rest of us for a while.” I lightly put a hand on each shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll find him.”

I turned and started walking back to the house as Ms. Plimpton emerged, shaking her head. The boy was not in the house.

“Stay here,” I told all of them. “I’ll drive around, see if I can find him.” I already had Ms. Plimpton’s home number in my phone, and could call if I had any news.

I walked through the house and out the front. Ms. Plimpton, looking at the damage, said, “I’m going to call the police.”

“Up to you,” I said. “But it’ll be a circus around here in no time if you do.”

I left her considering that as I got behind the wheel of my Accord. When I got to the end of the street I had the option of going left or right. Left took me into more suburbs, but right would lead me to the downtown district. It would take someone the better part of twenty minutes to get there on foot, but this was also a bus route.

I went right.

It hadn’t been ten minutes since I’d seen Jeremy on the porch, so he couldn’t have gotten that far. I drove slowly, casting my eyes from one side of the road to the other. He might be staying off the sidewalk to lessen the chance of being spotted.

When I got to a cross street, I went right again. Soon I’d be reaching some strip malls and fast-food joints. I got stopped at a light and was strumming my fingers on top of the steering wheel when a faded red Miata convertible screamed through the intersection, top down.

“Son of a bitch,” I said.

In the driver’s seat was a young woman with long blonde hair. Next to her, waving his arms in the air above the windshield, was Jeremy Pilford.

As soon as the light changed, I made an immediate left, cutting off a pickup coming my way and earning myself a horn honk and an upraised middle finger. I could see the Miata about a hundred yards ahead. There were two cars between us, and that was fine. I didn’t want to be spotted. I didn’t want to initiate a chase. If the girl tried to lose me, someone could end up dead.

At least she was showing enough good sense not to drive like a maniac. She was sticking to the limit, and she needed both hands to drive. One was on the wheel, the other working the gearshift. When she changed lanes, she signalled. It was her passenger who was displaying some recklessness, continuing to wave his hands in the air, pushing himself up, his butt nearly to the headrest, poking his head above the glass.

The car moved back into the curb lane, hit the blinker, and turned in to a hamburger place. Not one of the major chains, but an independent joint called Green & Farb Burgers and Fries, named, so went the tale, after the two men who founded the place in the fifties. The locals called it Grease & Fat, which might have sounded like a negative, but sometimes that was exactly what you wanted.

By the time I reached it, they’d found a parking spot around the back of the building and were inside. I parked my Honda across the rear end of the Miata, blocking it in. It was one of the first ones, from the early nineties. The folded-down roof was faded and torn in places. I was betting the plastic rear window, once the roof was up, would be yellowed and nearly impossible to see through.

I phoned Ms. Plimpton’s house. She answered on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“You can stand down.”

I heard wrestling over the handset, and then Gloria came on. “Jeremy?”

“It’s Cal. I found him. I’ll bring him home shortly.”

“Where is he? What did he—”

“I’ll be back soon.”

I slipped my cell back into my jacket, got out of the car, locked it, and went into the restaurant. It wasn’t busy, and Jeremy and the girl were standing by the counter. It looked as though they’d already ordered. I hung back, out of sight behind a pillar, and waited until they had their food and were seated.

At that point, I went to the counter and watched as someone loaded up a wire basket with frozen fries, then lowered them into the fryer. The grease sizzled and spat. I asked the young guy at the cash for a coffee.

Jeremy and the girl were sitting on opposite sides of a table for four, leaning in close to one another, giggling and laughing.

I ambled over to their table and casually dropped into the chair beside Jeremy. They’d ordered burgers and shakes and were sharing a large order of fries. A cell phone was sitting on the table right in front of Jeremy.

“Oh, shit,” Jeremy said. “You.”

“Who’s this?” the girl asked. She looked about the same age as Jeremy.

I smiled at her. “I’m Cal Weaver.” I offered my hand. The girl, caught off guard, raised ketchup-smeared fingers. “That’s okay.” I said. “How’s it going, Jeremy?”

“How’d you find me?” he asked.

“Honestly?” I said. “Dumb luck. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Charlene,” he said, rolling his eyes and slowly shaking his head.

“Who is this guy?” his girlfriend asked.

“This is my new bodyguard,” he said dismissively.

“What’s your last name, Charlene?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Wilson.”

Jeremy said, “I’ve known Charlene since like third grade.”

“The Miata yours, or your parents’?” I asked her.

Her tongue moved around in her mouth. “It was my mom’s but she gave it to me when she got a new one.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this a school day? Do your parents know you’re here instead of in class in Albany?”

“School’s over for today,” Charlene said.

She had me there.

“So, you two going steady?” I asked, reaching for one of their fries and popping it into my mouth.

Jeremy rolled his eyes again. “God, what century are you from?”

I smiled. “That’s what we called it back when we went to sock hops.”

Jeremy blinked, as though I’d just spoken to him in Swahili.

Charlene jumped in. “We’ve been friends forever,” she said. “Like Jeremy said, since we were just kids. I’m like the only friend he’s got left. All these people who said they were his friend, once everything happened, they all abandoned him. It’s like they didn’t even know him any more. But not me.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “It’s true.”

“So I came up to see him. Is that a crime?”

“It’s not like she ’s on probation,” Jeremy said. “Look, she’ll bring me back to Madeline’s house in ten minutes.”